A few months ago, I reported on the semi-serious internet campaign to get me to re-grow my mullet.  Well, a few weeks back, I was invited to a large-ish party to celebrate another successful Nuke Week and to commiserate with those still recovering from the aftermath of the thermohydraulics midterm. Shortly after the festivities began, someone found a ginger mullet wig laying about the apartment. (I never really had a chance to figure out whose apartment it was, but that’s besides the point.) The wig was being passed around, and I knew that I had to try it on.

My co-workers were mortified.

“It…it…it…” said Doug.

“It…kinda works…” admitted Tom.

I looked into the mirror…

…and I saw what should have been, for a fleeting moment, before the wig was passed on. The important thing is, we now all know what I look like with a mullet. Will we ever see it again? It remains to be seen.

X-mas is coming, by the way…

About a month ago, Tim and Joe started a pseudo-serious internet campaign to get me to re-grow my mullet.

Not grow, re-grow. 1990-1992 was a just bad time for everyone involved; I don’t want to hear it. I had a mullet from fourth to sixth grade. It was awesome.

Even better, the beginning of the mullet era overlapped was right on the tail-end of my battle with lazy eye, so I had to wear an eyepatch too. The end result was me being a miniature version of that one dude from Days of Our Lives. No photos of this exist, but rest assured that everyone’s hot older sister thought that was great. Sadly, by the time my testicles were online, mullets were passé and my eyes were more-or-less fixed. I was too young to capitalize on the situation and it still kind of hurts. Pictures of a be-mullet-ed me do exist, and you’re not getting them.

I maintained that when I was done with college, I would re-grow my mullet and live like MacGyver. Fate had a way of stopping that. My light brown leather jacket got lost, and I sold my beloved Geo, which was the closest thing to a Jeep that I could afford at the time. My life is less MacGyver-like than ever. On the other hand, I met Brian, a pilot who occasionally gets me into jams. By this logic, Stevie would then have to be Penny Parker. I’m not sure who Pete would be though.

I’d have to get hair plugs, and I’m pretty sure my insurance doesn’t cover that. Otherwise I’d have a Phil Collins mullet, and I refuse to do that, as I want to use vaginas at some point in the future.